


All Porn and no Plot

by vonWesternhagen



Series: Kopenhagen/Sonnenrad [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28009614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonWesternhagen/pseuds/vonWesternhagen
Summary: Volker is busy doing what he does best - sleeping around with anonymous gorgeous men; sometimes the other party is willing, sometimes not, but that's not something Volker concerns himself with.Micha has his usual share of anxiety, fear, and pining. He's still scared when Volker gets too close after years of regular abuse that he thought he had got used to. But when Volker shifts his attention elsewhere, that won't do either.
Relationships: Volker Krackow Graf von Wickerode/Alexei "Michael Litke" Yakovlev
Series: Kopenhagen/Sonnenrad [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051520
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Really don't feel like line-editing again at least at this point, so bad prose will remain bad for the moment.  
> Spoilers for Kopenhagen, but Sonnenrad has had enough spoilers for Kopenhagen at this point as well.  
> Everything's just a mess this point in time, and in this life.

Litke took another long, deep drag at the cigarette in his hand. It had burnt down to the stub and started to threaten hurting his fingers. He shook away the ash, looking at it piling up in the ashtray, adding to a neat little pyramid. He then used the cigarette stub, now completely gone out, to further rearrange the outlines of the ash pyramid. His movements were careful, and his gaze focused. The hotel suite was brightly and thoroughly illuminated. He didn't know whether Von Wickerode was coming back tonight. He was too tired to think further. It was close to midnight.

The door knob turned. He looked up with a start. But he didn't recognise the man who stepped in calmly. Wool trench coat, beige-coloured scarf draped loosely over the shoulders, the man walked in as he took off his hat. Dark-haired with chiseled features, he gave off a naturally refined and graceful air, but his steel grey eyes held a fire. He seemed hardly able to contain his strong emotions; rage, detestation, or... Fear. 

He glanced over Litke, without making any comment. 

Von Wickerode slipped in behind him and closed the door, with a triumphant grin on his face. 

"Micha," the Count called out softly, yet with indisputable authority, "why don't you take his coat?" 

So Litke got up from the sofa and did. 

"Do you need me to leave?" He asked. 

"No." Von Wickerode replied, "I don't think we'd take all night." He chuckled quietly to himself before turning to the other man, "Or do you think we might?" 

The man paused, and looked away before answering, "I'd need a shower." 

"Take your time." Von Wickerode said, flinging himself onto the sofa Litke was sitting on a moment ago, "Me, I've just got out of bed and showered two hours ago. I shall skip mine if you don't mind." 

The man gave an almost unnoticeable smile, a weak, cold smile that at once spoke of both mockery and helplessness, before going straight into the bedroom, and shutting the door tight behind him. 

Litke put away the coat and scarf before sitting down next to the young Count. 

"You smoke too much, Micha." 

Litke nodded at the remark, "I'm sorry." 

"No, don't be," Von Wickerode kicked off his boots and put his feet up on the low table in front of them, "Hardly my problem." 

He took a cigarette out of the pack on the table as he was talking, and lit it on the match Litke promptly struck for him. 

"You should've worn a coat too, Volker," Litke said, "It's winter." He dropped the burnt match into the ashtray, knocking down the tiny ash pyramid. 

"It doesn't get cold enough in the evening when you've slept away the whole day." Von Wickerode protested.

Litke watched as the blond young man took a deep and satisfying drag at the cigarette, before exhaling slowly. A smirk crept onto the Count's lips again. He stared at those lips, at the curve they made. Somehow it was mesmerising beyond belief. 

Von Wickerode shot him a knowing look, almost as the maidens do when they are looked at by eager men, fully aware of the hungry gaze. 

Litke turned his head away immediately, visibly ill at ease. But he was sitting so close to Von Wickerode, he could feel the the other man's body heat where their legs touched. 

Von Wickerode quietly put a hand on his thigh. 

He froze. 

"You think you're safe tonight just because I've brought someone else." Von Wickerode said. His voice was smooth and soothing, but at the same time, threatening. 

Litke feared no one else as much as he did Von Wickerode; the man knew too much about him. All about him. The fair-haired Count knew exactly what buttons to push and what games to play. 

Litke nervously pinched at the sofa with the hand farther away from Von Wickerode, sinking his neatly trimmed fingernails deep into the cushion.

"Volker," His voice was tense and dry; he was futilely attempting to ignore the fact Von Wickerode was caressing his inner thigh absentmindedly, "Who is that?"

"Funny you'd ask." Von Wickerode said casually, and moved his hand onto Litke's crotch. He had put down his feet and was already leaning on the other man, “No one in particular. You know the drill. Standard blackmail, comes with our job.” 

Litke bit his lip and furrowed his brows slightly, suppressing a moan. The Count knew him too well: how to tease him, and how to excite him even when all he wanted was to break off and run. 

"But ... Why?" 

"Why?" Von Wickerode asked, "Why not? He’s pretty." 

Litke tried to concentrate. He could barely follow the line of logic in Von Wickerode's words; by now Von Wickerode had undone his trousers and was stroking his cock mercilessly. 

He almost wanted to thrust forward into the other man's hand, but he was still fighting back his lascivious desires to save himself some ridicule from the young Count. He was admittedly too sensitive to physical touch for his liking, but Von Wickerode always took advantage of it more than gladly. 

He licked his lower lip, and let out a small gasp. What to the young aristocrat was merely an amusing act to see his reactions, was nothing short of torturous to him. 

As he felt his member hardening in Von Wickerode's hand, chilling memories of being forced down to his knees, of being penetrated, and of being beaten in cold blood until his screams died down and all he could manage were muffled pleads of mercy, all started to flood back to him. He started to feel dizzy. 

"Volker," with quickened breath he grasped the other man's wrist, trembling, "Please... please..." 

Von Wickerode glared at him. “Let go of me.” 

Litke released his grip on Von Wickerode’s wrist immediately, like dropping hot iron. 

Silence fell between them. 

Litke was still shaking. Slowly he slid down the sofa, dropped onto his knees and pressed his forehead down against the young man's clothed thigh, like some hurt, small animal. 

Occasionally Von Wickerode would take pity on him when he was having a particularly bad night with his anxiety. But he didn't know if he could get lucky this time. If not, he’d better start sucking Von Wickerode off sooner than later.

The Count relented. Sighing, he buried his hand in Litke's hair and started to stroke it gently. 

Litke rested his head on the Count's lap, not daring to look up into the latter’s eyes. 

Being able to feel the firm physical existence of the young aristocrat had always been calming and reassuring to him, even at times like this, when Von Wickerode had teased him with measured cruelty, just out of boredom. 

"Well," Von Wickerode said, "Feel free to touch yourself when you hear me fuck him, then. Later in the night when you come and beg me to fuck you, it won't be an easy ride for you." 

Fortunately, he didn't sound annoyed. It was his usual, charming voice, which sent a shiver down Litke's spine nonetheless. 

"But," Litke asked, hesitantly, "why did you... Why him?" 

"Why," Von Wickerode answered cheerfully, "I like him."

"Like him?" Litke took a deep breath, feeling himself gradually calming down, "Then why wouldn't you just… Talk to him. Get to know him. Doesn’t seem like he completely detests you."

"Then wait forever to bed him? I don't know." Von Wickerode said, placing one hand gently onto Litke's shoulder, "I'd like to get to know him. But it's not always so easy getting to know people, dearest Micha. I'd rather know how he moans in bed, how he begs for me to go deeper, and how he cries when I've come inside of him." He paused. Without looking up, Litke knew he grinned. "Much easier. He would be hurt so deep and so bad that he'd never forget about me." 

And that was how the young Count dealt with people. With lovers, specifically. He did not love but controlled, hunted and ruined. 

The faint sound of water from the bedroom stopped. "Get off me now, dear." Von Wickerode said softly, using both hands to guide Litke's head up and away from his lap, so he could stand up. 

He walked over to the bedroom, knocked on the door, and opened it to enter without allowing time for any reply. The door closed behind him. 

Litke sat up on the floor, curled up and buried his head between his knees, leaning against the sofa. He shut his eyes tight to not see his cock still erect between his legs. He could feel the longing for Von Wickerode's touch, but also the deep, black fear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micha and his frequent nightmares.  
> Volker shows the slightest hint of caring but is probably just faintly amused.

The smell of semen and its taste in his mouth, mixed with the metallic taste of blood, nauseated him. Litke never got used to the taste of semen; he didn’t believe anybody could. If only all things were just a matter of getting used to.

Nor could he get used to the hard cock in his mouth. Even after he had long become numb to the pain induced by the violent thrusting, repeatedly punishing him until loads of hot semen were shot deep into him, he never got used to sucking cock.

With being fucked he could simply close his eyes and suffer through it. It didn’t make a difference what he did, as he was always blindfolded, and always tied up. It had in a way become routine: endure whatever done to him, and try his best to stay alive. He never had to plead or beg; it never served him well.

It was terribly painful at first, but gradually his body adapted. He was being used a lot. And he was well-lubricated, usually. Sometimes he would get hard from being fucked, and from time to time, he would come from it. It was rare his cock would be touched by anyone, or rub against anything unless the tip of the whip would count. Every once in a while, after being denied release for too long, he would find himself arching his back and moving his hips to match the movement of the cock inside of him, hoping desperately to come from being violated. At those times he'd weep, overwhelmed by shame and humiliation, words that he thought had long lost their meanings to him. The truth was he never got used to being fucked by men, no matter how much he tried to coax himself into believing it.

But over time he did grow good at sucking cock, and pleasing men. 

Yet still he was choking on the thick cock in his mouth, struggling to breathe.

“Alyosha,” a familiar voice called.

He startled awake.

He was lying on the sofa, curled up and wrapped in a blanket. He remembered dozing off in it. But now his head was on Von Wickerode's lap again, and Von Wickerode had one arm wrapped loosely around his neck.

“Nightmare?”

Litke nodded. He was exhausted. Even if his memories would never let him alone, he was glad to have temporarily escaped and returned to reality, a reality still bleak but slightly better, especially when the Count wasn’t interested in toying with him.

“Again?” Von Wickerode said.

It was Von Wickerode’s way of confirming the content of his dream.

Yes, again. The same reoccurring dream, the memories of being repeatedly raped by men he never saw the faces of.

He didn’t realise he was trembling until Von Wickerode pulled him into a tight embrace.

“It’s over now.” Von Wickerode whispered, “Just a dream. It’s okay now. I’m here.”

A strange thing for Von Wickerode to say, but he knew it worked. Von Wickerode’s presence slowly had a calming effect attached to it ever since the earliest days of their relationship. The relationship between the torturer and the prisoner, to be exact, but Von Wickerode was his favourite torturer if one could use such a morbid phrase. With Von Wickerode, if Litke was willing to suck cock that day, he could live through the day with fewer bruises, a little more food, and maybe even a few hours of sleep. Other guards were never so kindhearted like Von Wickerode.

“Still hurts? Down there?”

“Yes.” Litke answered weakly. Not a lot, but it did hurt. Von Wickerode didn’t fuck him that often, so every time it hurt for the first few seconds. Sometimes it would hurt throughout and for the days after, if Von Wickerode was being especially rough, and last time it was an occasion like that. He never showed any interest in reducing pain for Litke; rather, he took great pleasure in inflicting pain, in whatever form. He would lubricate just enough to allow his cock to go in, but no more. He never spared more time or effort on preparation than what was absolutely necessary.

Litke was now able to see the outline of Von Wickerode in the dark. He remembered the lights were on when Von Wickerode had left earlier before he nodded off. He could smell the faint fragrance of shampoo and body wash, as well. Von Wickerode must have just come out of the shower. And perhaps turned off the light when he saw Litke asleep.

Being so close to Von Wickerode always made him feel safe. He wasn’t safe from harm or cruelty, but at least from a wandering mind. He needed an anchor. He didn’t want to dwell on memories until the past caught up with him. Like a wild animal chased and hunted, he clung to life desperately, even if dignity and any self-respect had already mostly gone out of him.


End file.
